


Behind Closed Doors

by nekotachis



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Masturbation, Nipple Play, Other, Solo, Trans Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd, Trans Male Character
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-19
Updated: 2020-05-19
Packaged: 2021-03-03 05:21:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24269626
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekotachis/pseuds/nekotachis
Summary: Dimitri comes to terms with his body when he's alone at the end of the day.3HKinkmeme Light fill
Comments: 3
Kudos: 38
Collections: FE3H Kinkmeme Light





	Behind Closed Doors

**Author's Note:**

> 3HKinkmeme Light fill
> 
> I would love to see art or a fic centered on post-AM Dimitri masturbating with an emphasis on becoming in touch with his body after years of dissociation and dysphoria.
> 
> BONUSES  
> +He experiences strife giving himself this amount of downtime (but obviously still goes through with it!)  
> ++A partner is watching (I love dimidue, dimimari, and dimiclaude)  
> +++Nipple stimulation
> 
> CW for some anxiety, feelings of shame, body dysphoria

At the end of a long and arduous day, the last thing Dimitri really wanted to do was try to come to terms with himself. Certainly, he battled enough of his demons during his waking hours that he felt entitled to some reprieve when he was alone in his room. He pulled his blanket up to his chin. _Disgraceful, cowering like a child._ He was a grown man, for goddess’ sake. 

If he wasn’t so stubborn, perhaps he wouldn’t be frowning at his ceiling right now. This was a problem nobody but himself could fix for him, not that he wanted anyone to even help him with such a situation.

Dimitri was skirting around the issue, counting off all the other things he could be doing instead of taking care of himself. His hands felt tingly and cold despite the warmth of the room, and he let go of the blanket to chastely place his palm over his heart. What a joke, to be so afraid of something so menial.

He rolled his shoulders, sinking into the mattress. _You’re just putting off the inevitable, get on with it._

His free hand wandered under the covers, fingers exploring the peaks and valleys of his chest. Shame bubbled up inside his stomach, bitter and angry, but his thumb still skirted over a peaked, pink nipple. His breasts were never that big, small and soft things where he wanted something hard. He cupped one, trying to make sense of the texture and weight of it. His nipple slid between his open fingers, catching on the crook of them. That was...good. It was good. It felt OK, it felt safe. Surely everyone had nipples, there wasn’t anything _wrong_ about discovering it felt good to play with them.

The next time his hand slid over, he stalled, rubbing small and gentle circles with the flat of his thumb. Arousal sparked inside of him, cool and electric, something to push away the hot shame he felt before. It felt good, he reminded himself, to touch yourself. It was _normal_ , it was _ok_. People of all types liked their nipples touched. As if to chastise his ruminations, he pinched, probably a bit too hard, tugging a quiet gasp out. His toes fidgeted, nervous at allowing himself to experience such base pleasures, but it didn’t stop him from continuing.

It felt good, really good. _Too good_. Dimitri never realized how sensitive his tits were, a body part that just got in the way more than helped anything. He worked over both nipples now, licking his fingers to examine the difference in sensation between wet and dry. The soft friction of his fingers combined with the prickling pain of pinching left him breathless. His eyes were screwed shut, but his mouth was parted, soft sighs and whines escaping without control. Maybe he could learn to accept this part of him, if doing such a thing felt so good. Maybe, one day, he would even let Dedue do this to him, allow him to run his rough fingers over the soft mounds of his chest, let him bite and suck - oh, that idea was _exquisite_ \- all over his chest until it was red and swollen. He arched into his hands, whining, before cupping himself to give himself a break lest he come before the real show began.

For a moment, there was silence. He liked what was going on before, but he knew the real struggle would be working with whatever is happening _down there_. It had been so long since he took inventory of himself, acknowledged his body and what he was feeling. With his eyes closed, he scanned himself internally - his cheeks were on fire, pink with new arousal, but his shoulders and neck were tense with anxiety. His chest was sore from all the tugging, a good, radiating burn he would absolutely feel tomorrow. His stomach was woozy and warm, and his sex was hot and throbbing between his legs, the dampness coating his thighs.

He let his fingers wander down to his stomach, skirting over bumps of scars and feeling the soft hair. Each movement and touch was so intense, his body hypersensitive. It all just felt so unnatural, touching himself like he cared about who he was. The thought of someone else touching him, though, left him squirming with a confused feeling of both desire and repulsion. Nobody would want to touch someone like him, a mish mash of parts that didn’t seem to fit into the persona he had always been trying to portray. 

Well, there was no place to start with being comfortable with yourself than, well, with yourself. 

Curiously, he shifted his hands over the top of his mound, fingers barely touching his clit. Had everything gotten bigger since he last paid attention? He ran his fingers through the hair on his thighs, avoiding the obvious. It was warmer than he expected, a product of his prior toying. Rarely did he let himself get to this point of arousal, and feeling the swollen skin was alarming. He _wanted_ to come, but the idea of indulging and touching such a part of him...well, it scared him. The King of Faerghus, defeated by his own body.

Sighing deeply, he ran a finger through his folds, examining the wetness and heat that was left behind. It didn’t feel bad...just...weird. Maybe he was going about this wrong. Nobody ever told him what to do with _this_ , how to use what he was given in a way that felt appropriate to him. No wonder he felt shame and fear. 

But, he assured himself, you’ve fought bigger battles than this, so let's move on. 

His fingers slid down again over his clit, rubbing the head in circles much like he did before on his nipples. It made him feel fuzzy, softer at the edges for a bit, but it was too light to do much of anything. Using his index finger, he ever so gently pulled the hood up, exposing himself. It was warm under the blankets, but the air touching previously covered skin left him hypersensitive. He wasn’t sure he liked that as much, and he huffed at the tingly sensation of being exposed. His middle finger ran over his inner folds, feeling and prodding at swollen lips and skin. Gentle as a lover, he slid down lower, lower, to let his fingers rest at his entrance. Probing, poking, he collected some wetness, not fully entering, just feeling.

His face was scalding numb with embarrassment. He was alone, but somehow he still felt like he was being watched. Perhaps his ego was a better spectator than he previously thought, and he tried to quash the feeling down with the rest of the strange and confusing emotions building up inside of him.

Rubbing his clit felt good, so he went back to toying with it, feeling the hood slide up and over, dragging slick up and over to lubricate himself. The friction felt delightful, sending sparks of electric pleasure up through his belly, coiling in his chest. He didn't even know this was something you could do; apparently he had been playing with himself all wrong. The soft and apprehensive touches were the wrong sensations. He needed to be poked, to be prodded, slid and slicked. He hyperfocused on his sex, paying extra attention to the movement of the skin, the temperature and wetness of his body. A deep groan broke free as he tugged on a tender nipple, and he bucked into his hand, chasing after his fingers as he jerked his clit off. 

Oh, how this left him feeling so good but so empty. He couldn’t bear the thought of filling himself right now, stuffing himself full of his fingers while fucking up into his hand. He needed someone else to do it for him, to reach all the spots he couldn’t while he jerked himself off and played with his tits. He let himself go a bit, invited Claude into his fantasy, imagined him touching Dimitri the same way he was touching himself now - running his nimble archer’s fingers over his entrance, teasing before sliding one in deep, bottoming out. Dimitri was sure one finger would be enough, but he had such a primal pull to be stuffed full. Claude would have to pull out, despite Dimitri’s complaints, only to fill him to the brim with two fingers, pumping as Dimitri frantically tugged at his clit. 

Dimitri felt close to overfull, his fantasies of his friends assisting him chasing away any prior anxiety and leaving pure lust in its wake. He was so hot under the covers, his chest expanding with each huffing breath as he humped up into his hand. He stopped playing with his nipple to slide his hand down his body, skipping and slipping over sweaty skin, to rest his fingers at his entrance, feeling it clench against nothing as he coasted closer to orgasm. 

There was Claude, fingering him full. There was Dedue, sucking and nipping at his pebbled nipples. And, regrettably, there was Dimitri, rubbing his clit raw like a teenage boy.

With a shout, he came suddenly, like being dunked under cold water. His entire body tensed as he worked himself through it, tugging and pinching and scratching over himself. He felt himself overflow, tears and whimpers as he rode out his orgasm, toes curling and stomach tense. For a moment he felt weightless, unconcerned and unbothered, before being dropped back down to earth. 

He squeezed his eyes shut harder. The initial feeling of shame was back, but he wasn’t sure why. He learned a bit about himself, wasn’t that the intent? To regain some control, some sort of safety and familiarity with this body he was going to have to live with it. He felt a tear travel down his cheek, and he wasn’t sure when he had started crying, or why. It seemed every orgasm he managed to have was complicated, where his emotions went topsy turvy. When he should have been happy, he was sad. When he should have felt safe, he felt scared. 

At least, he thought, he could try to count his blessings. Last time he tried this, alone after another long and arduous day, he couldn’t even manage to orgasm, deflating with defeat after pitifully trying to rub himself off with no prior preparation. And really, it felt good. It felt really good. He did something right, and he wasn’t as terrified as he was last time. It means he learned a bit about himself, and that’s what the whole purpose of this “exercise” was.  
Sighing, he made a face at the ceiling, the unfortunate silent observer. As far as “practicing”, he guessed this skill wasn’t the worst thing to keep at.

**Author's Note:**

> I hope I did the requester justice, and that maybe it resonated with some people. I wanted to fill this prompt for a while but it was something really personal but also really sensitive and difficult to write about! 
> 
> Thanks to my friends who looked it over - you know who you are.
> 
> [FE3H-Kinkmeme-Light](https://fe3h-kinkmeme-light.dreamwidth.org/452.html)


End file.
